Cooking with Gaara
by SeeingToad
Summary: Kankuro and Temari argue over dinner and Gaara decides to take matters into his own hands.


Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

**Cooking with Gaara**

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"Jeez, Temari – will you listen to me for once?"

"No I won't! My cooking is _much _better than yours."

"You call _that_"—Kankuro's voice was full of disgust –"food?!"

"Bite me!"

"You're just askin' for it!" _Clack-clack-clack-ka-thunk!_

Gaara had wanted some time to himself, some peace and quiet in the "sanctity" of his home for once. He had kicked off his sandals and his feet were neatly curled together on the couch, reading an enthralling romance novel, when his siblings had to break up the quiet sanctum with their fighting. Again. If he didn't have as much control over bloodlust and rage, he would've killed them by now.

He sighed, trying to block out the sound of Kankuro's puppets and the _whoosh_ of wind whipping from one sweep of Temari's fan, and continued reading: _Megumi swallowed, her onyx eyes shimmering with tears. "You can't," she whis – _CRACK! –_pered_. _Akito _couldn't_ leave her. Not after all they had been through! She stared up at him, but the once warm, blue eyes, were frigid. "I'm sorry Megumi – I love Naomi –_ WHOOSH! CRASH!– _so…Goodbye. Forever."_

Gaara frowned and lowered the enticing romance novel cleverly disguised as a cacti cultivation guide. Instead of being drawn into the story (would Megumi _ever_ get back with Akito?) his peaceful world was being constantly bombarded by two siblings who, ever since knowing he had made a 180 degree turn in which he was no longer a deranged psychopath who killed to feel alive, that he wasn't bothered by anything they did. Of course, he had been glad that they weren't as scared of him at the start, but as time passed by – he really wished they would still retain _some _fear.

"Temari. Kankuro. Stop this childishness!" he said, frostily, his voice carrying without being raised. He placed a bookmark between the pages of the book and closed it. Sometimes he felt like he was the older sibling and these two were much younger. His siblings, thankfully, had stopped fighting, and were now staring at Gaara with guilty expressions.

Kankuro rubbed the back of his neck. "Heh, heh – sorry, Little Brother. Forgot you were, uh, looking at," the brunet peered down at the 'book' Gaara had been reading, "cacti growing?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Temari apologized, looking equally embarrassed. Though, there was still a spark in her teal green eyes when she looked over at Kankuro. "But _he _insulted _my _cooking! Aren't you going to defend me? My cooking does NOT taste like sand!"

"I'm going to cook dinner, and, yes , your food tastes like burnt sand intermixed with ash. I should know – I've tasted burnt sand, and your cooking is very similar," Gaara stated in a monotone, standing up to his amazingly tall height of just below five feet, and ignoring Temari's miffed, "My cooking can't be _that_ bad!" He took strides toward the almost completely destroyed kitchen. There was a nice draft now from delightfully new hole in the wall Temari had been so nice to create with her raw power. Wonderful. It wasn't like they lived in the middle of nowhere, like, say, near the outskirts of the village. Oh, wait.

The kitchen sink was piled high with pots, pans, re-useable chopsticks, utensils, and kettles. Flies were buzzing around their grease-encrusted surfaces, lighting on choice spots of slimy-goodness. Gaara was a battle-hardened shinobi who had brutally killed, in very bloody and gory ways, enemy shinobi, people who got in his way, or people who just annoyed the hell out of him. He had seen their organs come out of their soft bellies, intestines fall out like bloody strings of spaghetti – but, ironically, Gaara felt queasy at the sight of clutter. Everything had to be neat and orderly around him. Otherwise, messes mirrored the chaos within himself, thus making Shukaku a happy Bijuu.

Using sand (not the dirty, icky, sand from his gourd) he carefully stacked each pan on top of one another until the sink wasn't nearly so full. His sense of smell, already somewhat sharpened thanks to being Shukaku's host, picked up the stench of mold growing in the black pot. He used sand to turn the faucet knob to fill the sink with hot water, also using sand to scour the surface of the –_yuck!—_ black pot.

Behind him, Kankuro and Temari exchanged confused glances. They had never seen their little brother use sand for anything other than combat and killing. But Gaara stood rooted in the middle of the messy kitchen, arms crossed against his chest, nose pinched in disgust, and letting sand do the work of several people at once.

In just under six minutes Gaara had the entire kitchen sparkling clean, and the hole in the wall was patched up thanks to his abilities.

"Y'know, hate to break it to you, but, Gaara, cleaning is strictly women's work, so--" Kankuro began. He never finished because he found himself on the ground, nursing a sore head. He looked up, half expecting to see Temari holding her closed fan like a club, but instead saw club-shaped sand above his head. Gaara was looking at him with what at first looked like a stoic expression on his face as normal, save for the little (very little) uplift of the corner of his mouth. Gaara had cleaned the kitchen, had whacked Kankuro for belittling women, and was now _smirking_.

"Cut some potatoes," Gaara ordered him. He looked at Temari. "_You_ will make some boiling water. I trust you to do _that _much without having it end in catastrophe."

Temari bit back a retort as she chose a pot and filled it halfway up with water. What did Gaara know, anyway, about cooking? She had never seen him cook before in her life. It would be much worse than _she _ever made – and she had been providing meals for the family ever since they were little (and Kankuro had been using his money earned from missions to splurge on his own stash of food and Gaara had become bone thin – but that was beside the point!) and, therefore, she was probably a much better cook than her little creepy little brother would ever hope to be. She hoped Gaara would see how _hard _cooking was and would appreciate her efforts.

Gaara decided, after watching his siblings make themselves useful, to don an apron. He opened the closet for storing such things, and found only a single pink apron with large frills along the edges. Without stopping to think how effeminate that would make him look, he bravely tied it around his waist and busied himself with the task of chopping up onions and tearing apart chunks of raw steak. As a tidy person he couldn't stand having stains on his black outfit. Even if it meant wearing a ridiculously girly apron, keeping his clothes stain free was of utmost importance!

Kankuro finished chopping the potatoes. He hoped two would be enough to appease Gaara. He turned his head around to look at his little brother, but could barely hold back laughter at the sight of him wearing a pink apron. Kankuro cleared his throat – he wouldn't _think _about Gaara wearing something so…cute—and said, "Two potatoes?" He meant to say a proper sentence, but was having trouble holding back the laughter that threatened to burst out of him. What made it even more funny was how disturbingly _normal _Gaara looked in it. Which was ridiculous.

"No, you need to cut up at least ten of them; two is a very small amount," Gaara said, and then turned his attention on Temari. "Very good. Now I want you to cut up celery, and after that, carrots."

Temari grudgingly decided that, whatever Gaara was making, he had at least something of an idea of what he was cooking. She pulled out six celery stalks from the refrigerator, and deciding to take a short cut, tried to hack them up with a sharp knife all at once.

Gaara's hand touched hers, startling her so that she stopped cutting. He quickly removed his hand now that he had her attention. "Not like that. Here," he said, taking her knife and using it to cut the leafy tops of the celery and the white bottoms. He separated the celery sticks and used the knife to cut one or two sticks at a time. He really couldn't wait to see what happened to Megumi next in the romance novel, and his siblings weren't making time go any faster by trying to take "short cuts."

"See how much easier it is to cut them?" he said.

Temari felt her cheeks grow hot. Of course she had known it was easier to do it Gaara's way. "Uh, thanks." _I hope this _burns_ so you'll see my dilemma!_

Once the work of chopping up meat and vegetables was done, everything was added to the pot of boiling water. Kankuro couldn't help but some sense of relief. He had been through horrible battles, had nearly died countless times, and would gladly brave all of that again rather than stay in this kitchen any longer. Gaara was very brave soul to do the cooking, but did he have to drag his own siblings into it?

Gaara took out a wooden spoon and began stirring the meat and veggies, unaffected by the heat. "Thank you. You may leave now," he said to his brother and sister, who gave each other very relieved expressions. He reached up, opened the cabinet over the stove, and pulled out a small container of herbs to add to the mix.

"What got into him?" Kankuro whispered to Temari when they were in another room.

"I have no idea. But, no matter how bad his food will taste, let's try and be polite."

"It'll taste better than _yours_ – that's for sure."

"You!"

Two hours later, a very hungry Temari and Kankuro were called to dinner that was _finally _ready. When they entered the dining room where they were greeted with three bowls filled with stew, a decidedly very yummy aroma filling their scents. Gaara had removed the ridiculous apron and was now seated at the table, holding his cacti cultivation manual. Temari had to withhold herself being immature and tipping Gaara's bowl of stew over his own head, no matter how much of a grudge she held that _he_ cooked better than her. Well, it _smelled _good – who knewhow awful it actually _tasted_.

"It tastes very good – I sampled some," he said. So much for the food being downright inedible.

With a resigned sigh, Temari sat down at her seat and took a small bite, blowing on it first. It was the most delicious thing she had tasted in a long time. What a disappointment.

"Hey, Gaara, this isn't bad at all!" Kankuro said, surprise written on his face. "How come you're so good at cooking when you've never done it before?"

"When I'm bored I read a lot of cook books," Gaara explained. He flicked his eyes at Temari. "I owe you an apology," he said.

_He's _apologizing_ to me?_ Temari hadn't thought anything could uplift her down spirits, but this was just the sort of thing she needed to hear.

Gaara nodded, slowly.

"Yes. Your food doesn't taste like _burnt _sand at all. Just _sand_."

"My cooking doesn't taste _that _bad!" Temari exclaimed.

"You haven't tasted your own cooking have you?" Gaara asked.

Temari shook her head. No, she had never tried her own cooking.

"Then you don't know how brave Kankuro and myself are whenever we have to eat your meals," Gaara continued, and ate another spoonful of his delicious stew. Temari said nothing more after that, leaving the table one of calm peace. That is, if you could call Temari's silent stewing over Gaara's words _peaceful_.

"If my cooking is _that _bad, could you teach me?" Temari finally blurted out. Kankuro choked on the piece of meat he had been chewing, and Gaara's face had taken on an expression of _cute_ surprise. Cute. Gaara was _cute_. The day never ceased to become weirder.

"I would be glad to," her little brother said, giving her a small, almost shy smile.

Suddenly, it wasn't so bad that Gaara's stew was better than anything Temari had made. She had learned something today about her brother and her own cooking, and returned Gaara's smile. Maybe things weren't bad, after all, as long as she remembered to swallow her pride.

Kankuro continued to choke on his food from across them.

**The End**


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